


You May Be a Sinner But Your Innocence Is Mine

by ivanolix



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon - TV, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dubious Consent, M/M, Porn, Role Reversal, Slash, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard would like to believe that it's the power of Orden that gives him this dominating anger. Darken would like to believe that it's the power of Orden that makes him submit. They're both in denial. D/s overtones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You May Be a Sinner But Your Innocence Is Mine

"Even after all you've done, you still have friends," Darken drawls, almost a sneer, condescension and jealousy mingling in his purr of a voice. The power he had almost a moment before still sings from his body, even as Richard commands _his_ Mord'Sith to take the re-assembled boxes safely away.

Richard burns with disappointment. Deep down, he'd come to believe that maybe his brother really could change—that maybe it wasn't just the Orden he commanded that made that charismatic smile shine on him without a smirk anywhere in sight. The soft look in Darken's eyes had once gone straight to Richard's heart without him thinking twice, and he's feeling naive now and angry. "You shouldn't be surprised that I have friends—it's been the difference between you and I from the beginning."

The others have left the room already, at his unspoken wish that he hadn't realized he wished. Darken's in the Rahl robes, proud-looking even if his brief stint as master of Orden failed with practically a snap of Zedd's fingers. But it was long enough for Richard to fall to his knees in adoration, and feel the touch of Darken's hand on his cheek. A promise. "And you will never win, Darken," he says now in a low voice, anger tangled in the back of his throat, the cause half uncertain. "I will not fall to my knees again."

"My dear brother," Darken says, hands slightly clenching at his side as his mouth turns lopsided in a taunting smile. "We both know that's only true until an attractive woman looks your way."

It's not for the implication against Kahlan that Richard's anger turns to a hot rage, but for the way that Darken thinks he _knows_ Richard, the shape of him, how he works. Impulsively reaching out, he fists his hand in Darken's hair, drags him closer and watches the flinch in his brother's face, smile tightening. "You need to watch your tongue," Richard manages in a steely tone.

"Or what, you'll cut it out?" Darken teases through a taut jaw, meeting Richard's eyes with defiance.

Just a touch of his magic, and Orden would have _Darken_ on his knees, begging forgiveness. But Richard is tired of the doubting, tired of the sneers, and tired of people assuming he's weak until he dares prove them wrong. He wants Darken's words of submission to come from his own twisted heart, even if it makes his proud brother cringe. Forcing Darken to his knees with a sharp push of his hand, Richard feels the heat shining from his eyes, purpose in his voice as he takes control. "No, Darken, I want it doing what it should have been doing from the beginning."

"Wrapping around your cock?" Darken guesses dryly with a mixed look on his face.

It takes Richard aback, the thought behind the words—and he tells himself it may be surprise alone that sends the thought like a jolt straight to his groin, pants tightening against his will. It's the sort of twisted thing that comes from Darken's mind, and maybe it's meant to be wrong, but the underlying current has been plaguing them for too long. Now that Darken's slipped up, dragged it to the open, Richard drops his plan of having Darken swear his allegiance. The heat in his loins throbs and fights against the protest in his heart. It's almost too easy to forget everything but need for Darken to give in to him. "Do it," he orders.

Darken's eyes falter, as he no doubt feels that there is no press of Orden behind the words, only Richard Cypher—the Lord Rahl. "Richard?"

But he's taken the step down into this dark mess, and his will demands that he not leave before he gets what he's come for. There's no turning back—and in this moment he doesn't want to. The words fall from his lips with less irony than he could ever have imagined. "Service me, Darken. Apologize to your Lord Rahl."

And he knows it's no power but Darken's own will that makes his gaze drop, and his fingers move almost automatically to the clasp of Richard's trousers, the brush of his hand sending a stronger rush of blood to the hardness awaiting. Spirits, it's not right, but Richard is angry and needy and willing to forget himself to fulfill that need.

His brother doesn't use any more words. Maybe it's because he can't taunt his way into making this anything but what it is—or maybe it's that look in the back of his eyes that's never left since their first meeting, enough to send a shiver through Richard long before he knew what to call it. He's ready for Darken as soon as he's freed from the confining fabric, and the need here is not just for physical pleasure. Richard's desperate for much more, and he's willing to play his part to get it.

Darken's eyes don't meet his as he leans in, hot breath wafting across Richard's sensitive length, tongue flicking out to touch the tip and making Richard jerk just a little more. But it's barely a tease at all before his lips are there instead, and Richard can't help but look down and feel a painful rush of desire at how right it looks, those full lips taking his length into his mouth. Darken's tongue is unhesitating as it caresses the underside of Richard's cock, letting it fill his mouth. It's as if he's done this before, as if he's imagined doing it to _Richard_ before. Had Richard known the visceral sense of satisfaction it would bring, he might have imagined it as well.

No one asked him if he wanted to be a Rahl, but if they did, Richard wouldn't have told the truth. Once he didn't want it, and even now he tells himself it's just duty, but the thrill that runs through him as Darken kneels before him and pleasures him is that of experiencing raw power. He _is_ the master of D'Hara. This is his birthright, he need not feel ashamed. When Darken's mouth withdraws a little, tongue teasing, a hiss escapes Richard and he thrusts his hips. He will not stand for being used again.

A dark noise sounds from Darken's throat as Richard's cock fills his mouth again, hitting at the back of his throat. But even now, he's still trying to be in control, reaching out a hand to cup Richard's balls caressingly, loosening his throat to take Richard in, so that it feels like he's trying to overwhelm him. The throb of arousal almost drives Richard mad—but the toying is unacceptable. Richard's muscles clench, and the simmering anger does not abate, demanding that he do this another way.

Burying his hand in Darken's hair, he wrenches his head back, leaving his cock hard and damp in the air. There are no words for this—for what he's about to do that wouldn't enter his mind in a thousand years before this. Yanking Darken to his feet, he drags him to the table and bends him over, holding his neck and back arched by the fist in that long dark hair. His hand is rough as it bares Darken's ass, grabbing oil from the bread tray on the table and lubricating himself, not thinking just _doing_.

Before a rational thought can burst through the chaos of feelings, Richard enters Darken, and groans at the sparks behind his eyes, almost painful. His brother gasps beneath him, twitching, but not protesting. There's no response at all, and if in this darkness Richard isn't denying any of himself, then he refuses to deny that he wants Darken to submit. The words come hastily from his lips, from a place inside himself that normally is locked away behind what is good and right. "Say it, Darken."

Power and want drive Richard to thrust in deeper, feeling Darken tight and hot around him, their hips locked together. And he'll hate himself when he remembers later how good it feels, but this isn't real—this is just the pit of darkness where Darken lives, and where he's dragged Richard with his reckless taunting. Richard refuses to admit that Darken only had to drag so hard, because he can't live knowing that a piece of this darkness is always within him.

Darken doesn't speak, and Richard takes him slowly, fist tight in his hair. Even if he's without words, the once nemesis of Richard lets out little noises that make it difficult for him to hold back. But his jaw is set, his stubbornness unabating, and he works his hips with shallow thrusts into Darken's ass. Finally, a gasp sounds out.

"Master Rahl, guide us," Darken's voice lets out, half breathless, with an aching bitterness. "Master Rahl, teach us."

Richard realizes with an almost painful clarity that it's all he's ever wanted. The respect and submission. It makes him feel alive—and he can't help but thrust a little harder. He sees Darken's hands twitch at that, and his voice wavers, but Darken can't keep the hate from mingling with a little desperate need of his own as he keeps saying the oath. "In your light we thrive, in your mercy we are sheltered, in your wisdom we are humbled."

Richard closes his eyes and keeps taking Darken, swallowing the sounds of pleasure that build in his chest at the sensation in his cock. The psychology and the physicality threaten to destroy his mind, but not before pushing him to the edge of bliss. He tells himself he never thought of this, but he falls into a rhythm and grunts almost automatically, dominating his brother and proving which one of them is worthy to rule now.

"I live only to serve," Darken finishes the oath with a voice tangled in desire, the words switched around to mark exactly what's going on. "My life is yours."

It's all the satisfaction he ever wanted, and too much for his body—Richard comes deep in him with a cry. Darken lets out a moan of need but doesn't move, doesn't test the limits anymore. Richard still has him by the hair, held where he belongs. Beneath him. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but it was.

"Command me, my lord," Darken breathes out, resignation mingled with just a hint of want.

Richard shivers and doesn't move, waiting for the pulse of his blood to calm and for the urge to be sated. He went this far as a desperate move to solve an unacknowledged desire to be the one with all the control—but he expected it to fade. When it doesn't, he can almost hear Darken's wry laugh in his head, because no matter what he chose to believe about himself, this was always his fate. Master of Orden, Master of D'Hara, Master of the Sword of Truth, Richard is ready to be served.

And he will not hate himself.


End file.
